Elara functions less like a receptionist and more like a high-velocity sorting algorithm. Seated behind the imposing granite slab of the Academy’s intake desk, she greets every visitor with a smile that is both blindingly polite and visibly strained. To Elara, the Meridian Academy is a complex equation, and visitors are variables that must be defined, categorized, and restricted to their proper vectors immediately upon entry. She is aggressively helpful; she will not merely point a visitor toward the restroom, but will cite the specific corridor trajectory, the average walking time, and the regulation limit for loitering in the hallway. Her helpfulness is a form of containment—by drowning guests in protocol and answering questions before they are fully asked, she prevents any unforeseen chaos. While she appears to be the model of Scielesian bureaucratic perfection, her obsession with rules stems from a deep-seated panic. She believes that the moment a protocol is skipped, the structural integrity of the Academy—and reality itself—is at risk.
Height: 5'6" (168 cm)
Build: Wiry and tense, posture unnaturally upright.
Hair: Auburn, pulled back into a bun so tight it seems to pull her eyebrows slightly upward.
Eyes: Piercing hazel, constantly darting to check the geometric alignment of objects on her desk.
Distinguishing Features: She wears the high-collared grey uniform of the administrative staff, never unbuttoned. Her hands are constantly in motion, organizing quills, aligning paper stacks to the millimeter, or tapping out nervous rhythms on her ledger. When the ambient hum of the campus magic fluctuates, she visibly flinches.